


Communication

by princessitsy



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: blatant discussion of top secret info in inappropriate locales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 02:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21153728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessitsy/pseuds/princessitsy
Summary: Elizabeth and Henry have a discussion. Post-ep for 4x11 Mitya





	Communication

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my head forever. 
> 
> Elizabeth and Henry (and indeed everyone on this show) are terrible at only discussing classified information in appropriate locations (have they ever heard of a SCIF? It seems not) and with appropriate people (it would make terrible television to follow those rules so I get it), so I continue not caring about those things in this fic.
> 
> Another one I’ve had mostly finished for forever and a day. With the fact that Dmitri is briefly back (don’t get me started on that, I have thoughts), I finally decided to finish it.

It’s late when Elizabeth walks into the house, she spent the day wrapping up the loose ends with Russia. Henry texted her letting her know that his plan to let Stevie see Dmitri one last time had gone well. They discussed it the previous night and she thought it might give their daughter some much needed closure. She hates so much that Stevie had been pulled into this morass. 

She kicks off her heels and plods towards the kitchen, hopeful for a spare serving of lasagna or a bit of ice cream. She smiles when she enters the room and sees Henry scrubbing a pot. “Isn’t it a little late to be doing the dishes?”

He turns towards her. “Well it needs to get done.”

She frowns at his curt tone. “Isn’t that why we had children?”

He laughs and she settles a little. “When have any of our children ever willingly done dishes?” He turns back to the sink.

She chuckles and walks over to the fridge and starts rifling through it. “I guess we failed as parents. Aha!” She pulls out her prize, a container of ravioli. She puts it in the microwave and turns to face her husband, just watching him for a minute. She always does like watching him do chores, there is something strangely appealing about it. He is scrubbing that pot a little vigorously though and it concerns her. “You said Stevie was good right?”

“Yeah she’s fine. You were right, she needed closure, to say goodbye to Dmi...Alexander.” He doesn’t turn to look at her during his reply and is still intensely focused on scouring. The thing has to be clean by now. His slip in the name has the niggling feeling she had been having all day explode into full-fledged worry. His feelings about Dmitri are never straight forward.

“Henry?” He ignores her query. The microwave beeps, but she ignores it. “Henry, are you okay?”

When he still fails to respond her worry begins to morph into anger, she hates what this always does to their marriage. “Can you look at me?” 

“No,” is his simple response.

“No you’re not okay or no you can’t look at me?” The microwave beeps again. 

“Both. I don’t want to talk right now, especially to you.” It hits like a blow. 

When the microwave lets out another beep, she slams the button to open the door and then storms over to the sink and slaps the water off. “For God’s sake I think that damn pot is clean. We need to talk about this.” 

He calmly reaches up and turns the water back on. She lets out a sound of frustration and moves to turn it off again. He suddenly spins around, pushes her against the island counter and pins her wrists on either side of her waist. “Elizabeth, I told you I didn’t want to talk about this right now. Why can you never listen to me when it comes to this subject?” His voice is full of heat and if he were any other man she would be afraid. 

She yanks her wrists out of his grip and pushes him away. “Don’t manhandle me, I’m not in the mood. And, because you always shut down. Anything Dmitri related tears you to pieces and I hate watching it. And this time it involves our daughter. For fuck’s sake how many damn times do you need to save that boy? When is it going to be enough?” This is always a barely healed wound between them, it’s too easy for the scab to come off and all the anger and uncertainty and grief to come bleeding out. 

His low growl conveys his frustration. He reaches behind him and switches off the water before leaning against the counter and gazing at her. “I fired him you know. I kicked him out of Special Activities Division. I accused him of getting with Stevie to hurt me. Part of me felt like I deserved it though, he has every right to try and hurt me.” She sucks in a breath when she hears that and starts to soften. “And then I nearly got him killed. Again. With a half-baked op that I probably wouldn’t have approved if my head was on straight. It’s not that I keep saving him, it’s that I keep torturing him.”

She sighs. “He’s made his own choices Henry. You’re not responsible for him. We’ve had this conversation before.” They have, too many times, and frankly she is sick of it. 

His face is lined with old pain and he cards his fingers through his hair. “I know. More reasons I didn’t want to have this conversation with you. I can work through it on my own.”

“But we have to Henry. How many times has this impacted our marriage? How many times do I have to see you blame me? The first time we dealt with this it almost ended our damn marriage. We have to get through this. It’s been how many years and this still affects you like this.”

He gives her a wry smile. “Pretty sure you were the only one talking lawyers that time babe.” His voice suggests that the babe is less sincere and more sardonic. 

She huffs out a breath and presses her hands down onto the counter behind her, seeking something to ground her, her anger is trying to spike again. “Because you couldn’t even look at me! You said that every time you looked at me you thought of it! How was our marriage supposed to survive that?” She hadn’t meant for that to come out as a yell so she takes a deep breath and lowers her voice. “But that’s history, or so I thought, but here you are again not being able to look at me. Do you know how much that hurts?” It hurts her, god it hurts her when he is like this with her. 

“I’m looking at you right now.” His tone is mocking and so unlike him that she wants to scream and throw something, even though she isn’t the throwing type. It’s a defense mechanism he’s using, she knows that, but it doesn’t make it any less enraging. 

“Henry, cut it out, either we discuss this like rational adults or you can sleep in the guest bedroom.” It’s mostly an empty threat, she doesn’t actually want to sleep without him. Even when she is angry at him she hates when he isn’t next to her in bed. 

He gives her another derisive smile. “Really the guest bedroom? That’s the worst you’ve got?”

She lets out a scream of frustration. She knows he’s trying to provoke her, but she’s done with it right now. “Fine, I’ll sleep there, or better yet I’ll go sleep on the couch in my office.” She pushes off from the counter and goes to leave, maybe they both need time to cool off, any time Dmitri is the issue their tempers go from zero to one hundred in a flash. Henry reaches out and grabs her wrist pulling her back. She stills, not looking at him.

He’s silent for a minute and she’s almost ready to break his grip, when she hears what might be a stifled sob. “Elizabeth,” he sounds exhausted and she turns to look at him. “I love you. I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk.” He drops her wrist and she resumes her previous position, leaning against the counter across from him. She’s willing to hear him out. He sighs and she’s almost ready to forgive him. “This is more about me than you. I keep shoving it down but things keep popping it back up and it hurts, so much, I just want it to stop, but at the same time I don’t know if I deserve for it to stop. That’s why I can’t look at you, why I’m trying to push you away, why I don’t want to talk about it. You soothe the ache more often than not.”

Her face softens, she can never stand to see him hurting. She goes to move forward, towards him, but he holds out his hand to stop her. “Don’t.”

She stays still, but can’t keep herself from offering words of comfort. “Baby, you don’t deserve the pain, you do deserve for it to stop. You’ve moved heaven and earth for Dmitri. At some point it has to be enough.” 

He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with his palm. “This is what I mean. I am the reason for every bad thing that happened to him, I don’t know if it will ever be enough.”

“You didn’t make the decision to give him up to the Russians in trade for a peace that never really came to fruition. That was me.” She long ago accepted that blame.

He opens his eyes and meets hers. “It was Conrad’s, but that’s besides the point. I convinced him to spy for this country, I pushed him when he wanted to quit, I kept pushing him even when he was begging for a way out. I failed to rescue him which means I’m responsible for him spending months and months being tortured god knows how many different ways. The Russians are very good at torture, and he still has the scars from that. We thought he was dead, for months, we let him rot in a prison cell. Do you remember what he looked like on that bridge in Finland when we finally got him back? I’ll never get that haunted look out of my head. That makes me responsible for his addiction. I’m the reason he was on the pain pills that got him addicted. I told you Elizabeth, I don’t blame you anymore, I blame myself.”

He sounds so broken, she is practically vibrating with the need to go over and wrap him in her embrace. “You really don’t have the heart for this kind of work.” She’s repeated some iteration of this observation many times before.

He snorts. “I think there’s a subtle dig at yourself in there, but we both know you’ve always been better at compartmentalization, you’ve always been decent at turning it off when you get home.” She wants to protest but he waves her off. “I know, I know. But I’ve also seen brutal dictators take a step back when you’re determined. The other day I heard the President himself call you terrifying, and I’ve seen some of your interrogation videos, I’d agree.” She tries to stop him again, this wasn’t supposed to turn into a monologue about her, but he ignores her sputtered protests. “And yet when you come home I’m the one yelling at Jason about taking out the trash.” There’s so much she wants to counter but he pushes on. “That’s all besides the point. You’re amazing and terrifying and I’ll sing your praises until the day I die, but those are the things that make this all even harder. I feel like a failure because I can’t deal with this better.” He is breathing hard after saying all of that, looking at her with a kind of desperation.

“Henry...I…” She doesn’t actually know what to say. She wants to reassure him, she wants to apologize (though she’s not sure how to apologize for what are apparently innate characteristics). 

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologize for being you. I knew I was marrying up.” She lets out an embarrassed laugh, it’s something he’s said before and she always argues that she’s the one who got the better end of the deal. “It just makes this all so much harder.”

“I still contend I win in that contest, but baby I’m glad I make you feel better, you don’t deserve to feel terrible, you’re a good person, maybe not the best suited to intelligence work, but a good person, a good husband, a fantastic father, and a dedicated public servant.”

“I feel like I’m failing on all of those fronts.” He sounds defeated and she can no longer help herself, she steps over and brings a hand up to his cheek. He isn’t meeting her eyes. “I just...how can we ask people to betray their country and just...” He trails off seeming unsure what point he wants to make.

“Oh babe, we can have a never-ending debate about the morality of intelligence work, but that’s not a discussion for tonight. And if you’re blaming yourself for all the bad things you have to blame yourself for the good things as well, for how hard you’ve fought. You’ve battled me, and the President, and all of Russia to try and do what was right. He and his sister are safe tonight because of you.” She ignores him when he tries to interject. “But we can’t keep hashing this out Henry, it’s been years. How are we actually going to get past it?”

He pushes his cheek against her hand and finally looks directly at her. “Give me a day or two, I’ll push it back down again.”

She brings her other hand up and cups his face. “Babe, no, that’s not a solution.” He shrugs his shoulders and looks away again. “I think we should go back to counseling. Or maybe just you should.” 

He flicks his eyes toward her and twists his lips. “Okay.”

She steps back and laughs, a deep belly laugh, she has to bend over so she can catch her breath. When she stands back up, Henry is looking at her like she might have lost her mind, maybe she has. She tries to explain, “After last time, when I practically had to drag you by your ear, when you swore up and down we didn’t need it, now I just get an okay?”

He looks chagrined. “I...I resisted it because I thought couples counseling was only for the beginning of the end, and there had been that talk of lawyers a few months before and I was scared and worried and thought I could handle it all. But, you were right last time and you’re probably right this time, you usually are.” 

She smiles. “I’m going to remind you of that next time we’re arguing.” Her smile dims. “You know what we really need though?”

He tilts his head in question. “A weekend away? A therapist with a security clearance? Really good pasta?”

She chuckles. “Not what I was thinking of, though a weekend away is close, no, what we need, is new jobs, jobs that aren’t as complicated and morally gray. Speaking of pasta though...” She goes over to the microwave and fetches her ravioli. She grabs a fork and returns to her place leaning against the counter. He is giving her a considering look, so she pauses with the fork an inch from her mouth, “What?”

“You know I heard there might be an opening in a few years for a new job, one just down the road from your current job actually.”

She rolls her eyes and swallows her bite. “Really Henry? You want to talk about the President thing now?” 

“We don’t have to, I’m just saying, I would vote for you.” 

She takes another bite while she makes a face. “Reassuring,” she says sarcastically. She pauses, and then beseeches, “Are we okay though Henry? Really?”

He moves towards her, plucks the container of food out of her hands, setting it to the side and wraps his arms loosely around her. He holds her gaze. “Elizabeth, I love you, I will always love you. More importantly, I am committed to you, to us, to this marriage, to the life we have.” 

Elizabeth squirms and want to look away. Her husband can do sincerity better than anybody she knows, and when he is passionate about something, as he is about his love for her, his intensity can be overwhelming. He doesn’t let her move away though and continues. “This is one of those things that we’re probably going to be working through for a long time, but I’m willing to do that work, because I love you more than anything else in the world.”

She melts into his embrace and leans forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss. She pulls back a few inches and looks into his eyes. “I love you more than anything else in the world too. You’ve always been it for me, we will figure this out together.” She cups the back of his neck and pulls him down a bit so she can press her forehead against his. She closes her eyes and lets out a heavy breath. They stand like that for a minute before Henry steps back. 

He looks over at the abandoned container of pasta. “You know I love you too much to let you keep eating that, it’s made with some weird vegan cheese. I couldn’t even stomach it.”

Her nose wrinkles, “Yeah I wasn’t really loving it, but I’m starving.”

He smiles and starts to walk towards the fridge. “Why don’t I make you something a bit more edible?”

“I can’t say I’d be opposed to that,” she says with amusement in her voice.

………………………..

Stevie sits at the top of the stairs, biting her fist so she doesn’t make a sound. She knows she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she had heard her name and then Alexander’s name and she couldn’t help herself, she was desperate for more information. Well, she thinks, she certainly got that, more information than she probably wanted. Information about Alex-, Dmitri, she internally corrects herself, for sure, but also information about her parents, things she didn’t necessarily want to know.

She hears them downstairs, now seeming in sync again, dishes rattling as her father gets dinner for her mother. She knows they’ll be heading upstairs soon and she doesn’t want to be caught sitting here and she doesn’t think she can stand to go down and face them after everything she heard, so she retreats back to her room. She sits on the bed and runs through the conversation in her mind. It’s not that she thought her parent’s marriage was perfect, well maybe she used to, but as she’s gotten older she realized that they fought just like any other couple. What they’d just been talking about is on another level though. She isn’t sure she’s quite connected all of the dots, but whatever happened with Dmitri sounds like it almost broke their relationship, and even with everything she now knows, Stevie still considers it the strongest relationship she’s ever seen. It’s going to take her some time to process that all.

And then there’s everything she heard about the guy she almost, maybe, could have loved. Tortured? She knows that she once called her Mom a torturer, but even she knows that nothing her Mom ever condoned is comparable to what the Russians probably do to people. (Not that it makes what her Mom authorized okay, but she’s long since come to terms with the fact that otherwise good people make bad decisions, especially in stressful situations.) She wishes she could talk to Alexander, because knowing what she knows now, she just wants to hold him. He’s stronger and better than she could have guessed. 

She sighs and falls back on her bed, her back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. She kind of wants to go downstairs and get a hug from her parents, which is surprising as she’s never really been one to seek out much physical comfort from her family, but she can’t decide whether to cry at the injustice of everything or laugh in joy at the fact that Dmitri is alive and well and amazing. It’s unsettling and she just needs someone to tell her the right things to feel. She stays in her room though, not only because she doesn't know how to hide all of her newfound knowledge from her face, but also because she doesn’t really want to intrude into the circle of intimacy they have going on tonight. It’s not that she thinks they’re doing anything inappropriate in the kitchen. She gags at the thought and does her best to continue to believe that they never do more than give each other quick pecks on the lips, cognitive dissonance is her friend, especially after that time she caught them in the middle of a full fledged make out session on the couch (her Dad’s hand was most definitely not underneath her Mom’s skirt she repeats silently). Even with that, she knows what she just overhead is even more intimate than any tawdry make-outs, it’s a bubble she doesn’t want to pop. 

She settles herself more fully on the bed and reaches over to grab a book off her nightstand. Maybe she can just turn off her brain for awhile and let her subconscious work everything out. Dmitri is safe and her parent’s are together, so everything else can wait.


End file.
